Aragorn's Bubblebath
by Miss Snuffles
Summary: Aragorn gets what he really wants, and no, it's not Arwen or the end of Sauron.


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Disclaimer and Author's Note: I've never written LotR before, but my friend Heather and I somehow found ourselves talking about how much Aragorn needs a bath. So. I do not own any of the LotR works, or anything related to them. This is purely for fun. 

ARAGORN'S BUBBLEBATH 

One very hot, sunshiny day on the depressingly savaged land of Middle Earth, Aragorn found himself separated from his fellow heroes. It all happened very suddenly, just as the self-alienated king was thinking to himself, "What I wouldn't give for a bath!" One moment he was racing through a gnarled forest behind Legolas, smelling their epic stench, and the next he was tripping over a devilish root and falling flat on his face.

When he looked up, spitting out grass and dirt, he found that the lithe elf had vanished from his sight. Craning his neck behind him, he could only see darkened trees and forest brush, which really made absolutely no sense, since Gimli had been grumbling and swearing behind him.

"Well," said Aragorn breathlessly, staring ahead of him, where Legolas should have been. "That just tears it." The warrior braced his hands against the soft, moist forest floor and pushed himself to his feet. He swore in Elvish, absently amused that such a regal race could invent such colorful words to express his exact present feelings.

"Legolas?" he called out hopefully, circling around, keen eyes searching the shadowed foliage. "Gimli?"

The smell around him was slightly less offending, at least by two-thirds. He sniffed inquisitively and realized it was only his own bodily stench that made the leaves around him wilt. Going through an epic without a bath tended to do that to a man.

"Well, this sucks," Aragorn muttered, placing his hands on his hips. It seemed rather stupid to just stand in the middle of a forsaken forest and wait for danger to pounce. After circling on his heels again, Aragorn opted to go neither back or forward, but to the right. As he stepped through the brush, he grinned a little to himself. What an independent thinker he was being!

And dang . . . he really stank.

It wasn't much of a struggle walking through the tangled brush. Everything seemed to recoil at his approach, and Aragorn heard several animals shriek in fright and scamper off. Yet the further he walked, the lighter it seemed to get, and the air was no longer stiflingly and heavy, but light with a cool, refreshing breeze. Unfortunately, the breeze carried his scent downwind, where the last of the unicorns suddenly croaked.

After an hour's walk and humming "Saruman Had a Little Orc," Aragorn came upon his second surprise of the day. Just as a berry bush curled away from his approaching steps, a ray of pure sunshine nearly blinded him.

Blinking, Aragorn saw that he'd entered a clearing. And not just any clearing. Warm sunshine stretched down onto the green grass and wild flowers in sparkling streams like the curtains around Arwen's mystical canopy bed. The vegetation was brilliantly decorated with bright greens, blues, pinks, and reds of exotic blooms which wrapped around and exploded from a small stone arch. Twining vines concealed a cool, marbled wall that seemed to disappear into the forest itself.

Stepping closer, Aragorn suddenly smelled a heady aroma like the fragrance of thousands of wet, blooming flowers. He hesitated just before the arch, expecting the beautiful plants to shy at his own heady aroma. Instead the blooms seemed to radiate even more light and fragrance, as if beckoning him to step through the entangled arch.

Who was Aragorn to argue against flowers? 

Grinning almost giddily to himself, Aragorn ducked under the reaching petals that were suspiciously scented with Arwen's perfume, and found himself standing in a steaming garden.

The vine-covered walls surrounded a spring. Wild flowers grew in erratic abundant, and weeping willow trees stretched their long branches over a fresh spring covered with lily pads. On a raised, stone platform just beyond the spring was a sort of open terrace chamber, complete with soft, floaty curtains. And just visible was—

"A bathtub!" Aragorn shrieked with delight.

Dignity abandoned, Aragorn raced down the wildly scented lawn, leaped over the spring, and dashed up the flat stone steps. Pushing the curtain aside, he let another cry of sheer delight.

A claw-footed, porcelain bathtub sat in the middle of the airy platform, filled to the rim with warm, foamy water. Large, rainbow bubbles danced merrily over the foamy surface, skipping with the soft, cool breeze. On a tiny, gold and glass stand beside the tub head was a pile of soft, fluffy white towels. 

"Oh—_oh_!" cried Aragorn, skipping with joy as he crossed the platform to the towels. Not only was there an abundance of fluffy white towels but there were little seashell soaps! 

Even though he was an epic hero and accustomed to being wary of strange temptations, Aragorn didn't dare question his fortune. With an impish grin and hop, he glanced surreptitiously around the glorious garden, and then zealously began stripping off his grimy, blood-stained clothes.

"Oh boy, oh joy!" he cackled gleefully, dismissively tossing his sword to the suddenly Roman tiled floor. He never heard it clang. "Good thing I lost the hobbits! And that dratted, effeminate elf and smelly dwarf! More bubbles for me!"

Completely stripped, Aragorn took a moment to enjoy the cool, soft caress of the breeze on his skin, which needed much airing out. With an ecstatic squeal, he plunged first one foot, then the other, into the perfectly heated tub of foamy, pleasantly scented water.

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This is what being a hero should be about, Aragorn thought blissfully, his head finding a silk pillow as his rugged body melted at the bottom of the enlarged tub. He could fully stretch out his travel-worn legs so that his feet pressed against the other end, keeping him from slipping underneath the bubbly surface.

Giggling gleefully, Aragorn closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and submerged his head under the frothy surface. Entombed in the steady warmth, he allowed himself to languidly float until his lungs began to ache for air. Surfacing, he batted playfully at the suds enveloping his face. 

"Now that _that's_ out of my system," he chuckled cheerfully, "I think I'll shampoo."

As if by magic, he suddenly saw a small, netted basket in the corner beside him. A bottle of strawberry shampoo—his favorite—waited only for him to pick it up. Obediently, Aragorn squirted the whole contents into his palm, and with an euphoric moan, he began massaging the shampoo into his long, tangled hair.

"Oh, it tingles!" he giggled, kicking his feet with delight. He sniffed. "I smell like strawberries!"

Once he lathered, rinsed, repeated, and conditioned, Aragorn took another dunk. Resurfacing, he scratched at his very scruffy beard. He liked the rugged, manly look a shadowed chin gave him, but this felt like a dead and charred badger. Rummaging through his little net of bath and body bottles, he found a razor with a moisturizing strip.

"Ha-ha!" he crowed, raising the blade in a triumphal punch.

Quickly, he scooped up some foam and patted it gently on his chin and cheeks. 

"Ho ho ho. You're so silly, Aragorn. No wonder Arwen loves you so much! You're a king, rugged and manly, spec_tac_ular with a sword, smell like strawberries, and have such a wit! Ho ho ho!"

Humming gaily to himself, Aragorn shaved his scraggly beard, not at all concerned that it didn't shave cleanly but remained slightly scruffy. It was just the look he wanted, anyway, only not so gritty.

When he finished, he looked around him, wondering what to do next. Poking up from the net was a sponge on a stick. Sighing with content, he snatched up the object and began ardently scrubbing the dirt and grime away, marveling how clean the water remained while the thick layer of filth washed away.

Soon he was squeaky clean, even under his nails, behind his ears, and inside his navel. Fully relaxing, Aragorn sank far down into the suds, only his nose poking through the foam. With birds twittering and the cool breeze making the curtains dance, Aragorn closed his eyes and fell into a blissful sleep where he dreamed of women in transparent togas . . .

Actually . . .

"Aragorn! Aragorn, speak to us, are you all right?"

Aragorn's eyes opened to the dark, stiflingly forest and two grimy, filthy faces and an intoxicating stench.

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Damn.


End file.
